Pride
by MyimmortalHadenXCharm
Summary: Everything is a brand these days. Your race. Your gender. Your virginity. And of course, your sexuality. A brand of shame. NOH8 they say. The world is such a lie.
1. Chapter 1

Eggs. I fucking hate eggs.

My head aches as I rest it on the front of my locker door as I wiped the smeared egg yolk off of the flat blue surface. I start banging my forehead on the front of the door, resulting in dull thuds echoing throughout the hallway. I sigh.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm probably standing in the yolk. It wouldn't have just stayed stuck on the door. Duh, Tulio.

Sure enough, the vibrant yellow mess is squishing underneath my converse and is violating the sanctity of my dry backpack. Fuck.

No really, Fucking _fuck. _

_Fuck_ this.

You know, I wouldn't have minded as much if they had called me a faggot, or shoved me in the hallway, or something like that._ That, _I could've just shaken off like normal. This just made me angry, and horribly hurt.

I leave my locker door open as I walk over and dispose of the soaked paper towel in the waste bin. Too bad that the trash basket is on the other end of the impossibly long hallway, and by the time I'm down there, track runners are going by me and my head is turning and following Jeremy's long long legs. I smile.

I shake off my hands onto the floor after shoving the paper towel under the little plastic door of the trash-can. I turn to go back towards my locker, to see none other than Donovan and his band of thugs standing around it.

"The Fuck are you doing?!" I shout.

Donovan just gives me a 'Che', before shoving a brown paper bag inside my locker and slamming the door way too loud to not be showing off.

The walked away and I held up my middle finger at their backs, shaking my head. Probably just pot in that bag that they're trying to plant me with. The drug dogs are coming in two weeks. I hope they know that the smell won't go away from their lockers in that amount of time.

_7-23-40. _I turn the dial on my locker and open it, curiously peering inside the bag.

It was filled with the most _disgusting_ things.

You can imagine, I mean, this bag was packing more plastic than a California porn star. It was innocuous enough, but inside it's brown paper exterior, there lurked the most horrifying, revolting, and clearly _used_ toys.

Oh, dear. This is just gross.

I shake my head, sighing as I hear the snickers from around the corner. They think they're so clever. Because this is just hilarious.

It never gets old with them either. If it's not calling me a faggot, it's telling me that they're gonna kill me. Yes, it's just hysterical.

There was a sticky-note on the front of the bag. _Borrowed these from my sister and figured you could use them, ya queer._

There was no initial, but I knew the handwriting pretty well. It's not like me and Donovan were best-friends in elementary school or anything.

Yeah, nothing like that. We had been more like brothers.

He had used to threaten kids away from me and give me his Lunchables. Now he's threatening to kill me, and bullies me publicly for my oh-so-obviously-fuh-_laming_-gay-retard-ass. Or at least that's what _he_ says._  
_

My mom keeps asking me if I want her to tell a counseler or the principal, but I always tell her no. We all know that if parents or adults get involved with bullying, it just gets worse.

'Like what? Do you need your _mommy_ to defend you or something, faggot?' I can already hear it.

Yeah mom, great idea. '_Don't pick on Tulio Garcia.' _That's like putting a brand on my forehead that everyone can read.

And apparently they can. I didn't think it was that obvious.

I mean, at least I'm not Romero. Now that is obvious. He's flamboyant, he's peppy, and he takes an obscene amount of stock in his appearance. And besides, I think he even came out publicly. I'd be surprised if anyone _couldn't_ read that.

Donovan's always loudly shouting in the hallway that I should bend Miguel over the water fountain and give it to him. He makes snide remarks of the same sort if we're in the same classroom too. Miguel always just looks over, sortof embarrassed, before ignoring it.

I mean, me and Miguel aren't friends. And just because we're both gay, doesn't mean we're meant for eachother. It doesn't work that way. He's one person in 3.5 billion males in this world. And I know pretty well that that's not the best gamble. What would the odds be that he would be the one for me?

Not very fucking good.

Hell, I don't even know what the kid's like. We've never talked.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Or so they say.

Romero himself comes waltzing around the corner. Long skinny legs swathed in black denim catch my eyes, followed by a baggy red sweater.

I blink. He usually is much more extravagant than this. I mean, he isn't even wearing his retro Reebok german sunglasses.

And he usually isn't... Crying either.

As he approaches, he wipes under his eyes with the heel of his hand, not slowing down at all or sparing me a glance. At the exact wrong moment, he sniffs and wipes his nose, turning his head to the side so that he doesn't see that he's walking right towards me.

Before I can say anything, he bumps right into me and the bag of dildos still in my clenched hand, and he sends himself sprawling to the ground. I fall back against the lockers in alarm, and I'm sure I look like an idiot, eyes wide like marbles, mouth ajar, staring at the butt that's sticking up in the air in front of me.

Okay, so I wasn't actually looking at his butt, I just didn't wanna admit that I was upset about hurting him or something.

He yelps, and immeadiately I'm helping him up, saying that I'm so sorry over and over. He sniffs, and an honest-to-god _sob_ forces its way from his mouth. He stands up, pushing my hands off of him, and I feel just so awkward that it's unbelievable.

I mean _really,_ Tulio. You fucking idiot.

I set the bag back in my open locker as he pulls his bag back over his shoulder. I lean down and pick up his notebooks and his binder, and we both stand up at the same time, knocking foreheads together.

"Ow- I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Holy crap, I'm a frickin' clutz." I mutter. "I'm sorry, man, here." I offer his stuff gently and he takes it. I finally look straight into his face.

His eyes are red, and there's a big bruise on his cheek. He's crying. Like, real, sniffling, sobbing, choking crying.

I've never dealt with a crying boy before. Or a crying girl for that matter. I hiss through clenched teeth, and before I realize, I've lifted a hand to his cheek and ghosted my hand over his bruise. He grabs me sharply by the wrist and tosses my hand away, tilting his chin upwards, nose in the air, still wiping his eyes, and still _crying._

"Are you... okay?" And really I could just hit myself. Of course he's not.

I don't know whether or not to hug him, or pat his back, or just give him an awkward shoulder punch. Or maybe nothing. Nothing sounds good top.

"I'm brilliant." He says flatly, voice cracking. He sniffs again, wiping his eyes with his sleeve now. He doesn't even look at me.

Right as I'm about to ask him what's wrong, he starts walking again, leaving me there by my open locker. He dissappears around the corner without a word, and after two minutes of standing there awkwardly and blinking, I close it and walk out to the parking lot.

And for some reason, the strangest thought races through my mind.

_God, is he beautiful._


	2. Chapter 2

_Reread Chapter 1. I have done some editing and updating and am changing the course of the story. Thank you for your patience. Betcha thought I had closed shop on this one didn'tcha? (;_

* * *

Okay, so I admit, I maybe kinda _sorta_ was a _little_ tiny bit jealous when I found Miguel making out with that kid.

Wait, wait, wait! Listen okay! It's not what'cha think!

I had gone back into the locker rooms after school because I forgot my deodorant, and I _really_ like that particular smell, and I didn't wanna wait until Monday to get it back.

Well, um... Wow, I guess I don't know how to put this.

Miguel and that other kid were just sorta... Tongue-kissing. In the locker room. In front of my locker. _Against_ my locker.

Maybe I had been too quiet coming in here or something and the hadn't heard me.

Okay so I didn't wanna embarress myself completely so I backed up ultra-silently and stomped my way back in, because I _really_ want my deodorant, okay?

Sure enough, they heard me this time and damn, they woulda fooled me if I hadn't seen them twenty seconds early with their hands in each other's pants.

"Hey Tulio," Miguel actually _smiled_ at me. He smiled at me. Wow. He'd never spoken two words to me before really. Besides that snide remark from the day before about being 'brilliant'. And God, was he. His hair was out of place and his T-shirt was on backwards, but God did he look brilliant.

"Oh... Um... Uhh, Hey." _Brilliant_, _you retard. You sound so dumb right now._

"See you Monday," He didn't turn around to look at me as he said it. He simply raised a hand above his head, palm open in a goodbye wave.

"Yeah," I said, too late, after the door had shut. I slammed my head into the front of my locker, groaning, "You idiot... You _idiot."_

And I couldn't help but think to myself, '_Who was that kid... He looks so familiar.'_

* * *

I spent the entire weekend on Facebook, my mouse hovering over the 'Send Friend Request' button on Miguel's profile. On Sunday night, I finally clicked down on accident, and nearly screamed, running in my bedroom in circles in anxiety.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. You _Idiot._

Ten minutes later, my computer made a noise, and I flopped into the chair at my desk, moping and whining that my life was over.

_New Message_.

A chatbar had popped up in the bottom corner. I shrieked at the top of my lungs. My sister kicked on the wall from her room, and I heard a faint 'Shut up'.

I read the words over and over and over.

_He's tall, dark, and thin. Accept. (; _

* * *

"-and he was right in front of my locker, practically sucking this guy's _tongue_ out."

Corbin made a gagging noise, sticking his arm out the window of my car as we drove.

"Come on, why ya doin' that, Corbin?"

"What you're _into_ that?" He asks, laughing a little bit. He pinched my side and I laughed.

"Okay, stop, I'm just saying-"

He did a huge theatrical gasp, "You're jealous aren't you..."

"What? No!"

"You are! That's why you brought it up!"

"You're delusional."

"Just crazy for you baby- God I sound gay."

I raised my eyebrows at him before he started laughing.

"Sorry man, I'm just kiddin'. I hope you have better luck with Romero."

"Thanks."

* * *

It's the middle of the school year, and I just realized... I eat lunch alone. Every. Day.

This had never used to happen. Every single grade up to now- Eleventh- I had been surrounded by people. I was popular, I was liked, I was going places. I was that kid that everyone just _knew_ was going to be famous. Tulio Garcia. Everyone loved me.

What happened?

I grimace bitterly as I wrench open the top of my orange juice. What had happened? Middle school happened.

_Donovan_ happened. The asshole.

Well, he was only part of the problem, I suppose. He had just lit the fuse on the bomb that was my life in Middle school. The real problem was the teenagers.

Fucking teenagers.

Teenagers who are sad that they don't have cars, and think they're cool because they smoke, and who are always crawling over eachother. Teenagers who can't quit putting their feet in each other's mouths. Teenagers who fuck everything that moves. Teenagers with their better-than-you opinions. Teenagers who bully people who are different than they are. Teenagers that wanna kill themselves. Teenagers that lash out at everyone. Teenagers that believe everything they hear, and bow to popular kids like gods.

Teenagers. There's no one meaner on earth.

It would be a lie to say that I don't have friends. I still do. But not friends who care about me enough to stand up for me. Not friends who are willing to face ridicule if they sit by me or talk to me in public.

I think all people are like that. Even if just a little. Wanting to save face, fending for themselves even if it means abandoning those they care about.

You know, this school doesn't enforce it's no bullying policy very well. And this is a huge concern to me at this very moment because Donovan and Robert are walking up to me, and I know that this won't end with a suspension for them.

It's going to end with me embarrassed and the entire lunchroom laughing at me.

It's funny because there's anti-bullying posters on the doors to the lunchroom. Ha. Ha-ha. So funny.

_Get ready for it Garcia. Who's a punk-bitch? You are! Yeah! Bring it on, Asshole!_

But he's walking past me and over to the middle of the alcove where the lunchline is supposed to stretch around. I turn my head after him to follow his path. I take a bite of my sandwich, faltering in my chewing as my eyes land on a pristine blonde, not a hair out of place.

Miguel Romero is sitting alone today too. Imagine that.

All of his girlfriends are on NHS duty or something today, selling game tickets.

Miguel's standing up, moving over to the little stand where the ketchup and the napkins and forks are. I can tell that Donovan and Robert are headed right for him. My stomach clenches suddenly and I feel so nauseous that I can hardly breathe.

I find myself wishing that they had gone for me instead of Miguel. I don't want to watch this.

I can't look away, my eyes are just glued to this disaster waiting to happen.

Miguel's wearing a long sleeve shirt that sticks to his body and covers his thin arms in a way that makes me follow his moves. His eyes look like holes, with great purple circles that stretch around them and down his cheeks. His concealer doesn't hide them. His hair is combed and clean, immaculate. He seems to be trying to hide something.

He looks horrible, and terribly small without his horde of bisexual anime fans surrounding him. I mean, he looks good, like always, but the look in his eyes just... I dunno.

Suddenly I have this urge to get up, To get up before Donovan can get to him. Miguel and I still aren't really friends, but I feel this impulse to protect him, to shield him from this teenage drunkard who is obviously about to abuse him.

But I don't. I just sit and watch this unfold. I just watch it pan out.

I guess I'm like those people too. Not willing to risk my own self for other people. That makes me feel a little sick inside.

They exchange a few words. Miguel looks as though he's trying to deflect Donovan, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows as he answers, looking holier-than-thou. Donovan has him by the wrist now, voice louder and angrier.

It happened so fast, I hardly saw it. Donovan eyes went frightfully wide. His hand whipped out and punched Miguel in the stomach, screaming, "You faggot! You fucker!"

And Miguel was on the ground, curled in a ball, arms over his face. Everyone was staring, and there was a single moment of silence before everyone started shouting_._ To be fair, some were yelling for a lunch supervisor to come help, but most people were crowding around, yelling 'Fight! Fight!'

Donovan kicked Miguel in the stomach, jumping on him as he tried to crawl away. He kept punching him, over and over and I closed my eyes and swayed where I stood, wincing.

"You fucking stay away from him, you queer!" Donovan yelled, and suddenly it made sense. My eyes snapped open.

Donovan had a younger brother. He was in tenth grade. His name was something like Derek, or Eric, or something like that. There he was, standing acrossed the lunchroom, hand over his mouth, eyes wide. The same boy I had seen in the locker room kissing Miguel... the familiar boy.

_What if... No. It couldn't be._

"Please, Stop it! It wasn't my fault!" Miguel begged, now trying to drag himself from under Donovan's body. By then the lunch supervisors were upon them, dragging them apart.

_Could it?_

* * *

"Fuck you!" I shouted, shoving Corbin angrily, "I can't believe you told!"

"I just told one person," He whined, "C'mon man, don't be mad."

"You fucker! It only takes one person for everyone to know! Damn you!"

"Tulio, come on, How was I supposed to know that that was Donovan's brother that Miguel was makin' out with?"

"Obviously people figured it out, I told you not to tell anyone!"

"Shoot, man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know you didn't... Sorry for yelling..."

"It's cool. It's okay... So Romero's dating, Donovan's brother... Shit, man, you're out of luck."

"I know..." I said miserably. "Guess I gotta wait till they split up or somethin'."

"Yeah..." Corbin said awkwardly.

"Meanwhile, Miguel got the shit beat out of him. " I said. "It's your fault this happened. Donovan obviously didn't know that his brother was gay or somethin'."

"I guess... Hm, you're probably right."

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Were either of you in Lunch B today?"

* * *

The principal selected a few who were in the lunchroom at the 'scene of the crime', and asked us to describe it. I was picked.

From what I understood, many of those who testified, had told them that Miguel had started it, or that Miguel had hit back, which apparently incriminated him as a juvenile delinquent.

What kind of world do we live in that defending yourself from getting your ass kicked results in a ten day suspension? What kind of justice is _victim-persecuting_?

I suppose I already knew that the justice system in this world is all screwed up.

I saw the way the principal and the superintendent looked at eachother when I told them the real story.

"I was actually watching the whole time," I mumbled. "Donovan and Robert were walking around the lunchroom, and Miguel got up to go get some silverware... They sorta walked over and Donovan and Miguel were talking..."

I pushed my hair back in nervousness. They continued watching me.

"Um... I guess Miguel must've sassed Donovan or somethin'. I dunno, I can't lip-read. Miguel tried to go sit down, but Donovan just grabbed him by the arm. They said something more and then Donovan just punched him in the gut and started cussing at the top of his lungs. He threw him on the ground and just beat him to peices."

I shook my head, twisting my mouth downwards.

I think they believed me. They have in the past.

I'm a 'good' kid. I help out after school with stuff, I get good enough grades, don't get in fights, friends with teachers; That kinda stuff.

I think they really believed me anyways. I felt better knowing that.

* * *

As I walked past the guidance office, I could see Miguel and Donovan sitting in there in the chairs getting lectured. Miguel was clutching his stomach and holding an ice pack to his face. Donovan was glaring at him, arms crossed.

I stood there for half a second longer than necessary, and then just walked away.

At the last moment I noticed Miguel's head lift and look directly at me just before I disappeared from view.


End file.
